


A Thousand Teeth and Yours Among Them

by KTRex



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Ciri gets a mention but she’s still a fetus, Episode: s01e02 Four Marks, Episode: s01e04 Of Banquets Bastards and Burials, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Geralt is oblivious and stupid, I wrote lyrics you guys, Just tell him you love him you stupid bard, M/M, Pining, Tags to be added, and I hated it, changeling jaskier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24764995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KTRex/pseuds/KTRex
Summary: Jaskier is a changeling, wandering the continent in the guise of a bard. Meeting, falling in love, and sharing a destiny with a certain witcher could be either the worst or best decision of his life.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 64





	A Thousand Teeth and Yours Among Them

**Author's Note:**

> So remember my last fic, when I said I’d have this ready soon? Yeah, that was like, in April. Hope none of y’all were waiting on this. First chapter is a little slow, but it’ll pick up, I promise. Title is from In A Week by Hozier, which was the most fae-adjacent song I could think of.

Julian Alfred Pankratz was born in the spring. It was the sort of warm, pleasant, day that makes a person want to just lay in the grass and take it all in. The Viscount and Viscountess de Lettenhove could not be more pleased with their child. At least, they were pleased with him for the three hours that they knew him. The Viscountess had given birth in the late afternoon, and somehow, in the excitement, a very old tradition was forgotten. A baby had to be watched on their first night, or the fae would steal it and leave one of their own in it’s place. Unfortunately for the young Julian Alfred Pankratz, this story was all too true. One cannot say what happened to the boy, if he still lives. What is known is what happened to the child left in his place. Julian had grey eyes, the color of smoke curling into the sky. This new child’s eyes were a deep blue. No one noticed the change. The ability to glamour was innate, so nothing out of the ordinary was noticed as he grew.

When he reached maturity, he set out to find the grand adventures and tales he had always dreamed. His lute strapped to his back, the false Julian left this world, and Jaskier stepped from his shadow. Jaskier was a good name, he decided. A flower, pretty and bright, but dangerous in it’s own way. The Viscount and Viscountess received a letter shortly after, telling them of their son’s death. No one informed Jaskier of what he was. It was innate, a part of him he couldn’t deny. For fun, as a child, he’d slip off the magic hiding his true appearance, the too sharp teeth and bright eyes. The first few decades were unremarkable. He encountered a few others of his kind, but found no permanent home with them. Jaskier fell in love easily, but he also was quick to move on, a good combination. He sang pretty sounds and stories to humans, laid with the ones who caught his eye, and made a name for himself in both respects, bard and philanderer.

The he met Geralt. Oh Melitele, Geralt. There he was, a tavern in Posada, singing about creatures he knew didn’t exist, and the world decided to set an absolutely gorgeous, ill-tempered man in his path. A nasty voice in his head told him to ask the stranger for his name, take it possess it. Possess him. Jaskier was not a cruel man, and decided to talk to him, like people would. After a bad pick-up line about bread and a short discussion on the accuracy of his songs, Jaskier noticed the medallion.

Shit.

He was a witcher. That medallion had probably already given Jaskier away. Witchers killed things like Jaskier. Dying at the hands of a ridiculously attractive man was not the worst fate, but that didn’t mean he was going to volunteer for it.

But astoundingly, Geralt did not break out the silver sword once they were both outside. He had clung to the “I want to write songs about you” excuse in the hope that Geralt had not noticed. A hope that, by all indications, was validated when he set about following Geralt’s horse. He may as well keep up the naïve bard persona. Filavandrel knew what he was, of course. Elves had always been more perceptive than men, and apparently, more perceptive than witchers. He replaced Jaskier’s lute, with the underlying message of “Please don’t petrify my eyeballs.” Geralt never told Jaskier to leave, so he took that as an invitation to stay, spreading the good word of the White Wolf.

Jaskier always knew theirs was a temporary arrangement. Eventually, Geralt would notice something, and would either leave him or kill him. Despite this, Jaskier never could bring himself to leave. They went their separate ways from time to time, sometimes even months, but it never lasted long. Geralt had even become somewhat fond of him.

“Do you have anything to do instead of trailing after me, Jaskier?” Geralt asked him, while the last blazes of a campfire smoldered out one night.

“Nothing that’s this interesting. Playing for nobles is nice enough, but I get all my best material from you.”

“If that’s true, I should be getting a cut from your pay.”

“Did you just make a joke?”

“Could use the extra coin.”

“No, you can’t fool me with that scowl, Witcher. You made a joke!”

“I pray to all that’s holy you’re not rubbing off on me, Bard.”

“I’m a good influence.”

“Hmm. I doubt that.”

“Roach likes me!”

“Roach likes whoever gives her carrots.”

So he was friends with Geralt, somewhat. He was finding that witchers weren’t emotionless, just in control. But their time was limited, however, once Geralt noticed he hadn’t aged. And gods, was he taking his time with that. He thought, surely, after a decade, he would have noticed. But Geralt operated on a different time frame than humans did. A decade was nothing to him. He had had many decades before Jaskier, and would have many after Jaskier inevitably had to leave.

Jaskier always felt alive in the forest. A tavern was nice for his songs, but he was his truest self in the forest. This led to a few slip ups. Too much power put behind a song. Jaskier got by on natural talent, of course, but the woods brought out more of him. He was less the Viscount’s son and more of a force of nature.

_“You take my life, you take my pain,_

_There’s blood on your teeth, but I only feel the rain,_

_And lover, this time we’ve had,_

_Has left me broken and beaten, but I can’t seem to be sad,_

_For you lift my head up high and chase the worry away,_

_It’s not real, I know, but I can’t bring myself to care,_

_Caught in your hungry and hopeless stare.”_

It was a fast and chaotic tune, but tender somehow, all the same. Jaskier liked it very much, even if it was a bit morbid for his usual audiences. It would be one of the songs he kept for himself, he decided. Not everything had to be preformed to adoring crowds. Some were purely for his ears. And, by virtue of being within earshot, they were for Geralt too. Not that he ever commented on them beyond a grunt.

Jaskier did need something palatable for a court soon. Queen Calanthe had invited him to play at her daughter’s betrothal. The Princess Pavetta was, by all accounts, the only thing the warrior queen softened for. She was still protective as a mother bear, but was willing to indulge her prim, proper and not at all fit for a battlefield daughter. Jaskier suspected the invitation was at Pavetta’s request, as the queen had never shown a particular preference for him.

The invitation presented a problem for Jaskier. Cintra was a lovely place, full of lovely people, and their angry spouses, vengeful family members, and jilted lovers. He could think of six nobles he had offended off the top of his head. Long story short, he would need a bodyguard, even with his considerable abilities. Revealing himself in a notoriously bigoted queen’s court would be poorly thought out, even for him. Then again, it was poorly thought out to have a witcher serve as said bodyguard for much the same reasons. But even with the danger Geralt presented, Jaskier couldn’t stay away. Falling in love quickly could be blissful, but it led to heartbreak just as often.

He was reasonably sure he was in love with Geralt. It was slower than usual. In Posada, it had been a simple infatuation, tinged with fear towards this man who probably knew every way creatures like Jaskier could die. The simple act of sparing Filavandrel endeared him to Jaskier further. Restraint was an admirable quality for a witcher to have, and a strangely human one for someone who claimed not to be. Geralt was gruff, stubborn, and seemed only to care for Roach. But there was a strange feeling of hopefulness the witcher brought. The people hated him at worst, considered him an oddity at best, but he did the jobs given to him. A lesser man would have left those who scorned him to die, but Geralt helped regardless. It wasn’t kindness, Geralt was never warm, but the willingness to put up with the treatment he endured showed how much he cared about doing his work. Emotionless was not an apt description, Geralt just controlled his emotions well.

But Jaskier could write all the songs he wished about the glint of golden eyes and silver swords, the fact remained that Geralt was unlikely to return his affections. Eventually, Geralt world realize his true nature, or Jaskier would tire of him, as his kind usually did with lovers. Either one felt too terrible to endure, but it was a statement of fact. Even with all the risks, he did want to keep Geralt close for as long as he could. So he somehow convinced Geralt to be his bodyguard for the night.

Jaskier was right about Calanthe. She was not fond of his music, if the eye rolls at his rendition of “Fishmonger’s Daughter” meant anything. Pavetta seemed to enjoy it however, and the party was for her. Jaskier had to keep himself from gaping when he met the princess. Not for the usual reason (too young for Jaskier’s tastes) but the magic that surrounded her, hanging near her in thick clouds. Jaskier could smell it, like a forest before a lightning storm. Powerful wild magic. This was bound to be an interesting night. She did have a wistful look in her eyes throughout the night, however. Not one of a young woman excited to meet a future husband, but of a girl who knew what she wanted but could not have it. It was a familiar look to Jaskier. He imagined he looked the same way pining after Geralt, who was currently wrapped up in conversation with a mage named Mousesack. Geralt had called him a friend, but Jaskier was keeping an eye on him, just in case.

Then the hedgehog had shown up, and everything had gone to shit. More wild magic, less powerful than Pavetta’s, but still troublesome. Did Geralt just attract strange people? If so, was Jaskier considered one of these strange people? (Most likely, he reasoned. Few things are stranger than the Fae.) Geralt, secretly noble as he was, refused to kill Duny. Jaskier had pointedly decided to stay out of the whole affair. Find some nice company, weather whatever madness he had dragged his witcher into, then write a ballad for the ages. Ignoring the context, Geralt in a fight was beautiful to watch. Efficient, precise and vicious, a perfect blend of things that gave Jaskier a pleasurable shiver down his spine. He so rarely had the occasion to see Geralt like this. Geralt, keeping in mind Jaskier’s supposed human fragility, usually has him watch Roach or stay in the inn singing for coins while he hunted his quarry. Jaskier still firmly stuck to his plan. Then Pavetta had screamed.

Jaskier’s lute was ripped from his hands, but did not splinter when it hit the stone walls. Thank the gods for whatever enchantments Filavandrel had put on it. This was more potent magic than Jaskier had encountered in all his years wandering the Continent. He was in awe. And of course, his brave witcher was there to keep everything from devolving into chaos. The gall of Calanthe, to try and cheat destiny. Destiny wove her webs so tight they were inescapable, and all of Calanthe’s victories on the battlefield or political power did not render her immune. And really, it served her right, after what she had done to the non-human residents of her lands. A queen who eschewed magic and the old ways, having a daughter with magic bound by destiny. Though it looked as though this would be a happy destiny for Pavetta, with her husband.

When Geralt was rewarded, Jaskier didn’t expect much. More gold than a usual job maybe, or a favor from Calanthe and Pavetta. But Geralt invoked the Law of Surprise.

Oh, that perfect idiot.

Jaskier knew something would go wrong before Pavetta’s vomit hit the floor. And Geralt didn’t believe in Destiny, he knew that. He certainly did not need a Child of Surprise. But Jaskier knew Destiny could not be denied, no matter how one tried to cheat it. The child growing in Pavetta’s womb was proof of that. But he and Geralt left Cintra in a haste that night, derailing Jaskier’s plan for company.

“It won’t work, Geralt. You’ll have to come back for it someday.”

“Calanthe won’t let me back in, not after tonight.”

“I think tonight proves she has no say in the matter.”

“You believe in destiny, bard?”

“I think you’d be a fool not to.”

“If Destiny wants me so badly, she’ll come find me.”

“That she will.”

Geralt made an expression that could be interpreted as a smile. “You’re the only reason I was at that party. Shouldn’t you bear some responsibility?”

“Maybe so. I’d be happy to help you with it, when the time comes.”

“You with a child. Gods help us all.”

Jaskier began composing a song about the night’s events in his head. Maybe one day he’d sing it to the child, if Geralt had not discovered him yet.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna talk, I am on tumblr @morrigan-le-faye


End file.
